


one by one by one by one

by delsalami



Category: Just Roll With It (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Death, Gen, Murder, and a reference to something that happened arc 2 ep ?16?? but not explicitly a spoiler, like it's not pretty. and that's why it's rated M, spoilers up to arc 2 ep 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23849257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delsalami/pseuds/delsalami
Summary: Br'aad keeps seeing his friends die, and he'd do anything to save them.(rewritten 21/11/2020)
Relationships: Br'aad Vengolor & Everyone
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hmu with that sweet sweet constructive criticism, i worked on this for a long time and im still not happy with it
> 
> I edited this! 21/11/2020  
> I don't listen to the show anymore, and this fic has no regard for canon after the date this was originally published. But, this fic was bothering me because I knew it wasn't the best thing I could have done, I rewrote it, and I'm a lot happier with it now. Also the ending is sadder now :)

They were on an easy enough mission: head to a little abandoned town and get rid of whatever had made it its home. The place was far away from anything, though. They were a day in, and it would be three more before they got there. Taxi led the line, navigating the Fated on the winding path through the woods. Mountain was behind him, then Br’aad and Sylnan. Velrisa brought up the rear. 

“We might as well stop here for the night,” Taxi announced, gesturing to a clearing just off the path, “It’s as good a place as any.”

Mountain looked like he was going to argue, but Br’aad leapt into the clearing and began setting up camp. Sylnan announced he’d take the first watch, and everybody wished each other goodnight and fell asleep under the elder Vengolor’s watchful eye.

Br’aad woke up with a start. He was sitting upright, tied to a chair at the wrists, the waist, and the ankles. There were no knots in the ropes, and Br’aad tugged with his left arm experimentally, hoping it was elastic and he could escape, but they had no give. He was totally immobilized. He looked to his left, and there was Taxi, unconscious and bound to a chair in the same manner. Br’aad whipped his head around to his right, and Velrisa was in an identical position. Br’aad looked in front of him, hoping to analyze his surroundings, figure out where he was, and a clock started ticking. Instinctively, Br’aad tensed. He felt panic rise up in his throat until he choked on it. 

And there was Sylnan. 

Br’aad’s brother, on his knees, clutching at his throat. Br’aad stared. Why wasn’t Sylnan tied to a chair? Why were his hands pressed to his neck? What was going on?

Crimson started to leak between his fingers. Br’aad tried to scream, call his brother’s name, yell for help, he didn’t know. But it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t make a sound. Sylnan tried to say something as well, but all that came out was a pathetic gurgle. Then blood. It trickled out of his mouth, streaked his chin red, dripped onto the wooden floor. 

The colour was draining from Sylnan’s face, coming out from under his hands. Br’aad was still trying to scream. His throat was raw but he was still silent. He couldn’t do anything. He pulled at his restraints, tugging, trying to reach his brother, to do something, anything, to save his brother. He knew, though, there was nothing he could do. He was trapped, and Sylnan was dying.

Sylnan’s hands suddenly fell away from his neck, dropping limply to his sides. Br’aad saw the gash in his throat, exposing torn muscle and windpipe. It was a clean cut, masterful, and smeared with blood. Br’aad’s jaw trembled, and the clock stopped ticking. Sylnan slumped forward. His lifeless body hitting the floor made a dull _thump_ and—

Br’aad was screaming. He heard himself, now. He sat straight up and looked wildly around the camp. Mountain was staring at him, and Taxi and Velrisa stirred in their bedrolls. Sylnan was sprawled out on the ground on his back, and Br’aad vaulted over to his body to ensure he was still alive. Two fingers on his brother’s neck, pressing, trying to find his pulse. He put his ear against his brother’s chest, desperate to hear a heartbeat.

“Br’aad, what the hell are you doing?” Sylnan grumbled. Br’aad felt the low vibration in his skull and let out a sob of relief.

“Thank the gods,” he cried, “You’re alive.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Br’aad saw a star in the dark sky before the Fated decided to settle down for the night. They weren’t lucky enough to find a clearing to camp in again, so they began to set up directly on the path. 

Velrisa volunteered to take the first watch, and Br’aad’s stomach twisted at the thought of going to sleep again. But, he reminded himself, it was just a dream. Besides, they had resurrected Sylnan before; why not again? So Br’aad didn’t protest, and he curled up in his bedroll and fell asleep.

He woke up sitting upright again, and dread built in his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he didn’t look, his brother wouldn’t die. He tried to put his hands over his eyes, but they were bound again.

Br’aad’s eyes were forced open. He didn’t know how, he just knew he had to look anywhere but directly in front of him. He looked at the wooden ceiling, the blank, windowless walls, the chairs to his left and right. Taxi remained in the left chair, but Mountain was to his right, now. That meant… Velrisa. As Br’aad looked at her, a clock began to tick. 

She knelt on the floor, a few feet in front of Br’aad. She was facing toward the ceiling, making the slit in her throat stretch wide. Blood flowed freely from it, and she made no effort to stop it; her arms were at her sides, palms out like she was meditating. The scene was anything but peaceful, though. Blood pulsed out of her wound, flowing down her neck and chest, dripping between the links of her chainmail armour. 

Br’aad wanted so badly to tell her to do  _ something _ . She could use her magic, even just try to stop the blood with her hands (because that worked so well when Sylnan tried, a snarling voice said in the back of Br’aad’s mind). He couldn’t get her to save herself. And he couldn’t save her either. 

Velrisa opened her eyes and looked at him sorrowfully. She bowed her head, and the tension drained from her muscles as she fell forward with a thud. Br’aad recalled the time when he said that she was no longer his friend. Then he realized he never told her that he forgave her. 

And now she was dead. She died not knowing how much Br’aad loved and admired her.

Br’aad stood up so fast he got dizzy. Head spinning, Br’aad ran to Velrisa, asleep on her side in her bedroll, and he brushed her purple hair away from her neck. Her skin was smooth, no sign of any injury. Br’aad sighed with relief. 

“What’s your problem?” Mountain grunted from behind him.

“I don’t have a problem!” Br’aad instinctively blurted, spinning around. “I just had a nightmare, I’m fine. I can finish your watch for you,” he offered, in hopes Mountain wouldn’t press him on it.

“All right,” Mountain agreed. He made his way to his bedroll, and Br’aad sat on the log Mountain had previously occupied. He watched Velrisa and Sylnan’s chests rise and fall rhythmically, and he wondered who would be next. 


	3. Chapter 3

Br’aad volunteered to take the first watch. He didn’t want to go to sleep. Maybe the two hours he’d have to stay awake would allow him to unlock the secrets of staying awake forever. 

Probably not, Br’aad conceded. But a man could dream. 

He tried to be attentive, he really did. But he couldn’t stop checking on his friends. Every few minutes, he got up and listened for their breathing and their heartbeats. Nothing was happening that could distract him from what he had seen, and what he might see. 

The two hours passed slowly, but still much too quickly. Br’aad didn’t want to go to sleep, but he knew if he didn’t, he’d just be a deadweight. So he woke Taxi for his shift. 

“Promise me you won’t die tonight,” Br’aad said seriously, grabbing Taxi by the shoulders.

Taxi smiled, like he was going to make a joke. But he saw in Br’aad’s eyes that he was dead serious, so he said, “I won’t. I promise.” 

Br’aad knew that, logically, Taxi would be fine, but he could tell he was going to see Taxi die that night. But he didn’t say anything and pulled his friend into a long, firm hug. “Goodnight,” he whispered as he released him.

“Sleep well,” Taxi said, dejectedly, like he knew Br’aad wouldn’t. 

The chair to Br’aad’s left was empty now. The ropes were untied, limply draped over the arms and the seat. Br’aad let out a sob, and the clock began to tick. Before he’d even seen Taxi’s bleeding body, he felt the blood on his face. Br’aad’s heart began to pound, and he looked forward, at his best friend, kneeling on the floor, hands over his throat. He seemed to be trying to speak, but no words came out. All Br’aad could hear was his own blood rushing in his ears, and Taxi’s heartrending whimpers and sickening gurgles. 

Taxi didn’t bleed in a constant flow like Sylnan and Velrisa had. His blood surged out from between his fingers, like a geyser, to the beat of his pulse. A few more drops his Br’aad in the face, leaving hot, sticky, awful spots on his skin. It scared him. Paralyzed him with fear, with fury, to the point that he couldn’t even try to do anything to save Taxi, even though it would be in vain anyway. 

Taxi’s fur was matting, and the interval between each gush of blood was longer than the last. They were getting weaker, now. Hitting his chest. Hitting his knee. His foot. The floor. Br’aad’s heart sank more each time. There was nothing he could do. 

They cried together until the bleeding stopped, the ticking clock along with it. Taxi fell to the floor, and Br’aad cried alone. 

Taxi was already awake when Br’aad woke up, tending a fire. At least Br’aad didn’t have to panic about whether he was dead or not, when he could see him up and moving. It was the little things.

Br’aad wiped at his face, and he was almost surprised when he didn’t feel a hot smear of blood and tears across his cheeks. 

Taxi gave him a questioning look, and Br’aad looked away. He didn’t want to tell Taxi what had happened, but he got the feeling he knew anyway. 


	4. Chapter 4

Mountain volunteered to take the first watch that night. Br’aad was reluctant to go to sleep, but he knew he couldn’t stay awake forever. He could try, though, so he went and sat next to Mountain on a low tree branch. 

“What the hell are you doing, Br’aad? Go to sleep,” Mountain said gruffly. 

“What’s your favourite colour, Mountain?” Br’aad knew it was unwise to try to bond with a man he’d see die in his dreams later, but the alternative was seeing him die in his dreams _now_. 

“What the hell kind of question is that, man? Go to bed.” 

“I don’t want to,” Br’aad murmured, looking at the ground. It was covered in pine needles. Br’aad picked one up and fiddled with it. He pricked his finger with it.

“You know I’m not going to die, right?” Mountain said in a bored tone. “I’ll kill anything or anyone who tries to kill me.” 

“But if you don’t,” Br’aad said, leaving the rest of his sentence unspoken. 

He didn’t even know _what_ killed his friends. He didn’t know if it was killable. 

“But I will.” Mountain put his hand on Br’aad’s shoulder. “Go. To. Sleep.” 

Br’aad finally acquiesced, and stumbled to his bedroll. He drifted off much too easily, considering what he knew he’d see. 

No one was in the chairs next to Br’aad. In the room, it was only him, Mountain, and the ticking clock. Mountain was trying to use his beard as a makeshift bandage, and blood congealed in the hair, stiffening and matting it. 

Mountain was glaring at Br’aad as he choked and wheezed. No, he was looking behind him, just over his shoulder. Br’aad tried to turn and look, but some invisible force held his head forward, watching Mountain groan and croak and try to get to his feet. 

Br’aad didn’t have the energy to struggle anymore. All he could do was sit and stare. Mountain lasted the longest out of everyone, despite his thrashing and cursing. He seemed to be bound by some force, like the rope that kept Br’aad from doing anything, or whatever kept Br’aad from looking behind him. 

After an agonizingly long time of Mountain clinging to his last thread of life, he fell. Br’aad felt a horrifying sense of relief when his corpse hit the floor, because finally his friend was no longer suffering. He cursed himself for it. He spent all that time doing nothing. Maybe that time could’ve been different, and he could have saved him. 

The clock ticking didn’t stop this time. Br’aad wondered if that meant Mountain was still alive, and he started straining against his bonds. One last tick felt like a punch to the gut, and Br’aad’s vision went black.

He was the last one awake, for the first time in a long time. Everyone else was rolling up their bedrolls, and Mountain paused, giving Br’aad a curious look, when he sat up. 

“You killed it,” he lied.

Mountain squared his shoulders. “You bet your ass I did.” He knew Mountain could tell he was lying. Whatever it was... it was going to survive their encounter with it. Br'aad was sure of it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spoilers up to arc 2 ep 10

Maybe it would finally be over, Br’aad hoped as he drifted off to sleep. He’d seen all his friends die now. What could possibly be left? There was no one he cared about left alive. 

All four of Br’aad’s friends knelt in front of him. All of Br’aad’s hopes immediately died in his chest, leaving a substantial weight. They were all dead, but still upright.

That couldn’t be right. They always fell forward when they died. And there was no blood. Sylnan’s head was lolled back, exposing his neck, with no gashes or marks. Velrisa’s armour was spotless, and Taxi’s fur was soft and tidy, and Mountain’s beard was clean. If there was no blood, maybe Br’aad could get free in time to save them. He struggled against the ropes tying him to the chair. He felt the hope in his chest coming back to life.

A lock clicked, and the clock ticked. There was a door to the left of Sylnan that hadn’t been there the last four nights. It opened slowly, and it blocked Br’aad’s view of whoever was entering. Suddenly, Br’aad felt Sylnan’s eyes on him.

They were wide and pleading. “Br’aad,” he said in a desperate tone, “Please don’t do this. Please. Please, don’t….” 

Br’aad wanted to assure his brother that he wasn’t going to do anything, that he couldn't. But the one who’d opened the door appeared, and shut it behind him, stepping behind Sylnan, who was still begging. It was Br’aad. Br’aad Vengolor, exactly as he appeared when he had gone to sleep just moments before. Not an older version, not an evidently evil version with red eyes, or chaotic magic swirling around him. Just Br’aad Vengolor. 

And Br’aad Vengolor slit his brother’s throat. Watching Sylnan die the first time, in the sewers, it was worse than hell. The next time, in this same room, watching him bleed out slowly, it was agony. But now, knowing that Br’aad had killed his brother, it was worse than both put together. The guilt crushed him, the grief stabbed him, and Br’aad cried out silently. 

The other Br’aad Vengolor, face blank and expressionless, stepped away from Sylnan, allowing his brother to fall to the floor, a pool of blood slowly forming under his body, soaking and staining the wooden floor. 

He approached Velrisa, whose eyes opened. She seemed at peace, once again, but now she spoke. “I know you and I have had our rocky moments,” she said, looking the real Br’aad in the eyes as tears streamed down his face, “But I should have told you that I—”

The other Br’aad slashed her throat as well. He pushed her to the floor, and there was a crunch as something, her nose, broke. She bled onto the floor, the puddle beneath her growing rapidly. 

Taxi woke up as the other Br’aad Vengolor approached him. “No, please! I don’t want to die! Br’aad, please, I—” Taxi didn’t get to finish his plea before the other Br’aad cut his throat. Br’aad strained against his bindings, trying to get to his friends, to stop the other him. They were right there, right in front of him, and he was helpless. 

Mountain opened his eyes, and this time looked Br’aad right in the face. His expression was furious. “Br’aad, I always knew you were weak. I can’t believe I let a bastard like you beat me,” he snarled. The other Br’aad slit Mountain’s throat, and he fell forward. 

His friends’ blood pooled and mixed together until he couldn’t tell whose was whose. It coated the floor and soaked Br’aad’s shoes. His eyes were filled with tears, but they didn’t even grant him the mercy of blurring his vision. He saw his friends’ corpses, spilling blood and stiffening, perfectly and cruelly clearly. 

The other Br’aad left the room, without acknowledging the real him, weeping and tied to a chair, or closing the door behind him. Br’aad heard a bird calling. Why wouldn’t he wake up? Why did he need to live in this world where all his friends were dead? 

Eventually, Ob’nockshai strode through the open door. He was well-dressed, as usual, but he seemed unwell. His skin was pale and there were dark circles around his eyes like bruises. When he waded through the blood, there was no trace of it on his pointed leather shoes. 

“When I killed your brother, and when I killed Velrisa,” he began airily, “I was trying to save you from this. The Storyteller told you it was not their destiny to die when they did, and that was true. Their destiny… was to be murdered by you.” He gave Br’aad a sympathetic expression that a blind man could tell was fake. 

“No!” Br’aad exclaimed. His own voice startled him, after trying to scream for so long with no sound coming out. “This is a trick.” 

“No tricks,” Ob’nockshai said, a thin smile on his lips. “I can save you from their destiny. I can change the course of time, my boy. I can save your friends and your brother. And I can save you from having to kill them.” 

“NO! You’re trying to trick me! I won’t fall for that bullshit again,” Br’aad said. 

Ob’nockshai tsked. Br’aad’s bindings fell away, and disintegrated, and Br’aad stood up and made to hit Ob’nockshai.

“None of that,” he said, snapping his fingers, freezing Br’aad mid-punch. He took Br’aad’s hand and opened his fist, pressing a piece of chalk into his palm. “I come if I’m called, my dear boy.” 

He snapped his fingers, and the scene in front of Br’aad melted into blackness. He blinked to try to adjust his vision.

When his eyes opened again, it was dawn, and he was staring up through the trees. Br’aad searched his pockets and found the chalk. He gripped it in his hand, squeezed it, considering it. He set his jaw and threw the chalk as far as he could into the forest. 

“What was that?” Taxi asked. He came and squatted next to Br’aad. “Did anyone die in your dream?”

“Don’t worry about it. It was stupid,” Br’aad dismissed. Taxi patted him on the shoulder and left to go stand at the vantage point he’d chosen for his watch shift. Br’aad stared at the ground where Taxi had been, and it was dark red and glinted in the rising sun, like it was wet.

Br’aad touched it, trying to blink it away. It was dry and brown again. 

“You know, you can talk to me,” Taxi offered from a few meters away. Br’aad just shook his head, digging his fingers into the soil. “That’s all right too.”


	6. Chapter 6

The group reached their destination just before noon. The abandoned little town, with seven homes. They were nice, if a little run-down. A few boarded-up windows, a door falling off a hinge, darkness inside all the buildings except one.

“I guess that’s where we’re headed,” Sylnan said, gesturing to the building with warm light pouring out its windows. A birdsong rang through the air. 

There were a few murmurs of agreement, but Br’aad felt the dread building in his chest. They walked toward the house anyway, and suddenly there was a small weight added to Br’aad’s pocket. He stuck his hand inside to investigate, and he felt the chalk that Ob’nockshai had given him. He made a mental note to throw it away again as soon as there was a smaller chance someone would ask him about it.

They paused outside the door, and Sylnan opened his mouth to suggest a plan, and Mountain kicked the door open, and Br’aad’s heart _stopped_. 

This was the house from his dreams. 

It wasn’t quite the same. There was furniture here, and windows, but he recognized the grooves in the wooden floor where his friends’ blood had run, and the water damage on the ceiling. The light was the same as in his dreams, washing everything over with a yellow glow.

Br’aad didn’t have time to warn his friends, because Sylnan was bounding in and tossing a dagger at the tall dark-elven wizard that occupied the house, and Mountain had charged in with Flametongue, and Taxi and Velrisa were standing with their weapons at the ready. Br’aad was paralyzed, helpless and horrified.

And then they all stopped.

Br’aad braced himself for a ticking clock, but he realized it wasn’t time that stopped; it was his friends. Birds still sang outside, the wind still blew, and the wizard’s expression changed from startled to scheming.

He looked to Br’aad. “A traitor to your adventuring party, are you? Not going to help your friends?” With a wicked grin, he puppeteered them into a neat row on the floor that Br’aad recognized all too well. “Maybe I should just have you do my dirty work for me, hm?” 

As the wizard raised his arm to cast another spell, Br’aad dropped to the floor and scrawled out Ob’nockshai’s hourglass symbol, the one that had ruined his life and followed him around for over a year. 

Sylnan began to shout at him, but his words were cut off by the sound of a ticking clock, signifying the stopping of time. Sylnan was too late. 

Ob’nockshai appeared behind the wizard. “No tricks,” he repeated, walking forward. He still wore the same, thin smile, an eyebrow raised. “Aren’t you glad I’m so gracious? That I’m allowing you a second chance to take me on as your patron, Br’aad?”

“I just can’t watch them die again,” Br’aad sobbed. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. 

“Well, go ahead. Kill this man. You don’t want him to control your mind, have you murder your friends,” Ob’nockshai said, weaving between them, caressing their faces, “One… by one… by one… by one.”

At Br’aad’s hesitation, Ob’nockshai prompted, “Well? Do you?”

Br’aad swallowed, and pulled out his dagger. The same one he had used in his dreams. He stared at it for a moment and tossed it aside.

Br’aad raised his hand to cast Eldritch Blast. Time unfroze. The purple magic burst from Br’aad’s palm as Sylnan’s scream left his mouth. The magic hit the wizard, and his corpse didn’t hit the wall. There was no corpse. As soon as the magic made contact, the wizard faded.

An illusion. 

“No,” Br’aad whimpered. It _was_ a trick. A searing pain began in his palms, worked itself up his arms, and converged at his chest. The tattoos, previously gold, were now purple once more. 


End file.
